Shadows of our past existence
by theStarchilde
Summary: SEQUEL TO TOWARDS A NEW AGE. Sam and Dean have settled into their lives as Rangers. But something dark is on the move and it looks like the Winchesters might have to take up their old job one last time.
1. Chapter 1

**The shadows of our past existence**

 **Welcome to my new venture in this wacky crossover of mine. I've said from the start I had a sequel to** _ **Towards a New Age**_ **in mind. The problem was – as I was working on it, I didn't think it would really go too well. I abandoned it for a while, then came back to it. It's actually different from my original idea, but I think it will work this time. This takes place about a few weeks after the epilogue in** _ **Towards a New Age**_ **. It's going to focus more on the** _ **Supernatural**_ **world, although it will still happen in the** _ **Babylon 5**_ **universe. There will be a lot of characters mentioned from** _ **Between the darkness and the light**_ **and** _ **Towards a New Age**_ **. There will also be characters and instances from the latest seasons of** _ **Supernatural,**_ **but the main plot will follow my own ideas.**

 **Read. Enjoy. Feel free to drop a line or two**

 **I own neither of the shows. Just a handful of characters and a wacky imagination.**

 **Chapter 1 The Beginning**

 **Tuzannor**

Sam was sitting in the park next to the Rangers Headquarters, looking out at the mountains outside the city. It felt good to be back on solid ground, even better now that they had a stable base, a place they could at times dare to call home. As much as home could exist for them. There was always a voice in Sam's head warning him this was all too good to be true. Dean had no idea about it. Sam did not want to worry him with baseless fears, not now when things were starting to look good for them.

The sound of footsteps had Sam raising his eyebrows. He did not turn around, though. He knew those footsteps. He would recognize them anywhere. He smiled slightly, feeling himself relaxing on an instinct he would never be able to truly override.

"Hey, Dean," he greeted brightly.

Dean snorted. He was not really surprised Sam had known he was there. He was trying to be stealthy, but it never worked with Sam. And it was not because of anything Dean did wrong. He knew Sam had an ingrained sense of his presence. If Dean was close, Sam knew, even without Dean saying anything. Anyone else would have found this disturbing and slightly creepy. Dean did not. He could not. He felt the same way when it came to Sam, after all.

"I was wondering where you ran off to," he said, sitting on the bench beside Sam.

The younger man studied his brother. His arm was no longer in a sling. His run in with an asteroid a few weeks back had not left any lasting effects. Dean looked as good as ever – a bit restless, maybe, with that eager look in his eyes that showed how ready he was for action. Dean could never stay idle for too long.

"When are we shipping out, then?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged.

"Probably tomorrow. There's some noise close to Brakir. Bit of a weapons trading – probably with the Centauri. I was thinking we go check it out. See what we can pick up. Delenn hasn't sent anyone yet, so we'd better tell her we'd like to volunteer, what do you say?"

Sam nodded thoughtfully.

"Sounds good. It would keep you on solid ground for a bit and away from dodgy asteroids."

Dean rolled his eyes. He should have known crushing his flyer into an asteroid was not something Sam would ever allow him to live down.

"Dude, it was that one time. It's not like I make a habit of crashing into things."

Sam looked pointedly at him.

"What about that time we were leaving Proxima?"

Dean shook his head.

"Hey, we had a shipful of demons chasing us, then. And I did not crash, then. I just…had a rough landing."

"On top of a destroyer."

Dean chuckled. He was sure if Sheridan knew in detail the more colorful aspects of their lives before joining the Rangers, he would have thought twice before allowing them to wander all over the alliance. No amount of skill at their jobs would be enough to erase the fact that plenty of times their methods were desperate and unorthodox. If he was honest, Dean would not have it any other way. In his mind, it was part of the fun. He did not know if Sam felt the same, though. Sam usually preferred to function within the rules – if he could.

Sam straightened up. His eyes were fixed on an approaching figure that came from the direction of the White Star landing site.

"Isn't that Ralph?"

Dean cocked his head to one side.

"Yeah, it actually is," he said, waving to the young man.

Ralph Wilson was an old acquaintance of the Winchesters. They had known him when he was a young boy, miserably trailing after his Hunter father, but always eager to be around the two brothers for whom he had secretly harbored quite a lot of hero-worship. They had lost touch for a while and met again right after Dean got out of Purgatory. The two still found it hard to believe, sometimes, that the rather quiet and subdued boy had turned into such a fine Ranger, using the skills his father had tried to develop for hunting in such a unique manner. Sam and Dean were fond of Ralph, seeing him as a link with their old life. They certainly did not have to watch what they said when there was only him around. He understood their kind of weird.

As he got closer, Sam and Dean noticed there was a hint of worry on Ralph's face. His eyes were slightly wider than usual. He smiled, relieved when he saw the Winchesters.

"Sam. Dean." he greeted. "I'm glad to catch you here."

He sat down on the far end of the bench, biting his lips.

"It's good to see you, too," Sam said, after exchanging a concerned glance with Dean. "How've you been, Ralph?"

Ralph drew a shaky breath.

"I…well, I only just got back. And I got wind of something. I'm not sure how to tell Enthil'za – or if I should tell her at all."

Sam and Dean looked at each other, their eyebrows raised. Ralph took the Ranger code very seriously. He followed Delenn and Sheridan's instructions without question or hesitation. If there was something he was hesitant to report, he probably had a good reason.

"Hold on a second," Dean said, "What exactly did you see that you don't want those high up to know?"

Ralph grimaced.

"I didn't actually see anything for myself. It was all…second-hand rumors. But…you see, two of my informers - one on Mars and the other on Orion 7 – they're both dead. And the way they died…" He straightened up and looked from Sam to Dean, his eyes narrowing. "They had no external marks on them, but all their internal organs were shriveled. And…there were traces of sulfur around the bodies – in both cases."

Sam and Dean tensed.

"Demons," Sam whispered.

Ralph nodded, looking away.

"I did a little digging, then. Turns out three other Rangers had their informers killed in mysterious circumstances in the last four months– all were based on different planets, and they were of different races. And that's only what I've managed to get – there could be more, for all I know."

Sam and Dean did not say anything right away. They were no longer looking at each other, afraid to see their thoughts and fears reflected in the other's eyes.

"So," Ralph went on, "What am I supposed to do with this?"

Dean fixed sharp eyes on him. His face was tight, his expression turning dangerous.

"Nothing," he said firmly. "Don't do anything. Tell Delenn Sam and I are on it."

Sam's eyes widened.

"What, just like that?" he asked, hesitantly. "Without checking with Enthil'za first? We can't pull that stuff anymore, Dean."

Dean closed his eyes to hide his impatience. When he opened them again, he turned to Sam.

"Look, Sammy, Delenn knows a thing or two about what we used to do. So, even if we did waste time and explained all this – it will still be us going to check this out. You and I are the only ones qualified to deal with this mess. We're just showing a little initiative. Delenn and Sheridan are big on that."

Sam nodded reluctantly. He would have liked things to be different. He would have liked to have been others in the Rangers who could deal with the problem. He did not want Dean and him dragged back in the life they had thought successfully left behind. More than everything, he did not understand what was happening. What was their new life being targeted in such a manner? A thought was beginning to form in his mind, and he was hoping with all that he had it wasn't true. After Ralph left, he found the courage to voice it.

"Do you think this is about us?"

Dean did not answer. There was a tightness in his face Sam had not seen in a while – not since they had joined the Rangers and left their supposed destiny behind.

"Go back," was all Dean said, his tone clearly inviting no further discussion. "I'll get the _Impala_ ready."

Out in the world, things were moving. Dark things. Terrible things. They were stirring and waking up from long years of sleep, perking up at the sign of danger. At the sign of something about to happen. There were rumors everywhere one went. If one knew how to listen, one heard a lot. The supernatural world was shaking with anticipation and fear. Hunters were on the alert as their prey got bolder. Something was on the move. Something was about to tilt the world upside down again.


	2. Chapter 2 Back on the same road

**Chapter 2 Back on the same road**

 **I'm pleased to see this story is getting some interest and I thank you that you haven't gotten tired yet of this universe. Onwards to the next chapter. Let's meet some familiar faces :)**

 **They're not mine and I very much suspect they'll never be. I own a few original characters, though Llewellyn is mine, for example, you might remember him. He was a Ranger who appeared in Towards a New Age, briefly.**

 **Colony 10**

The tenth colony on the border of Centauri and Drazi space was almost unchanged. It had gone through some difficulties over the past years. The Centauri and the Drazi had held extensive negotiations on who should actually keep the colony now that the Centauri had seceded from the Interstellar Alliance. The Centauri had folded, in the end, probably because their economy was so shattered from the war with the Alliance a few years back – or maybe because there was still a bit of reason and strategy in Emperor Mollari, although everyone who knew him from way back was saying that was unlikely. Anyway, the Centauri had demanded special dispensations for their people still living on Colony 10, and the Drazi were in a generous mood and conceded – actually, as people from the Alliance's inner circle knew, it had taken a lot of pressure from Sheridan and Delenn to make the Drazi agree. But the official line was that the Drazi had agreed to the Centauri's requests without much fuss.

Colony 10 was still the best place for the misfits of the galaxy. No one asked awkward questions, no one looked at anyone twice. There could be dodgy deals going on right next to other people and everyone ignored them. In many ways, Colony 10 was the underworld of the Interstellar Alliance. Making it the perfect place for Sam and Dean to renew some ties and do some digging of their own.

The two had not spoken much en route, not about Ralph's news, at any rate. Sam tried a few times, but Dean always shut him down, changing the subject or cranking up the music to unbearable levels. Sam was left to marvel how quickly the two of them fell into familiar patterns – the deflecting, whenever they were worried, the constant refusal to communicate, especially when communication was needed most. After Purgatory, after they joined the Anlashok, Sam was beginning to think Dean was getting cured of his phobia to share his feelings and anxieties with Sam. Certainly he had acted more open minded lately. But all it took was the possibility that their old life might be calling them back, and Dean clammed up. The transition from Ranger who understood the importance of discussing one's plans - albeit reluctantly – to the Hunter who rarely trusted anyone other than himself and, on occasion, Sam, happened so fast that it took Sam's breath away. And here they were, about to act as if Purgatory had not happened, as if their change in careers had not happened. And the fear was back again, the fear that, since the Hunting life had already taken everything from Sam, it would ultimately take Dean, too – for good this time.

They received a few terse messages from Tuzzanor, to which Dean responded equally terse that they were checking a potential danger to the Anlashok and would get back when they had more information, or when they solved the problem, whichever happened first. No, they did not need backup. They had all the backup they needed for the job. And when Sam heard that last bit, he felt warmed for the first time since their conversation with Ralph. Dean might not have wanted to talk to Sam, but he still trusted his brother as much as always. And that, Sam decided, that would be enough. That had always been enough.

They found their way to one of the bars – the same one Sam had been to back when he was searching for a way to get Dean out of Purgatory. The place was full, but they managed to find themselves a table with two chairs in one of the corners. Dean drew back a third chair, in preparation for their encounter. Sam watched him carefully.

"Do you think he'll show?" he asked uncertainly.

Dean shrugged.

"Why wouldn't he? It's not like this place is barred for him or anything."

Sam searched Dean's face as he was talking, but he could find nothing amiss. He turned his attention to his drink. Two hours and a couple of drinks later, the door opened to finally admit the one they had been waiting for. Sam broke into a smile and Dean's face brightened. They had not seen Castiel in a while, even though Dean always made a point of letting the Angel know whenever they were out of Minbar, so they could touch base.

Castiel looked unchanged – which was a strange way to think about an Angel, since they weren't exactly supposed to change. He was still wearing the same ratty trench-coat Dean always made a point of calling a few centuries out of date (to which Castiel would usually point out that, since Dean owned a ship that was several decades out of date, he was not exactly in a position to talk. Sam knew to get out of the line of fire when that particular detail was mentioned).

"Sam, Dean," Castiel greeted, reaching their table and sitting down. "It is good to see you. It has been too long."

"Hey, don't blame us," Dean was quick to point out. "We said we'd touch base two months ago on Mars. You were a no-show."

Castiel looked away.

"I apologize about that. I was…otherwise occupied."

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Anything we should know about?"

"Not really," Castiel said stiffly. "No."

Even though he had never expressed disapproval at the Winchesters quitting hunting and joining up with the Rangers – and had actually professed to understand where that came from – Castiel sometimes made a point of reminding Sam and Dean the supernatural world was not really their business anymore. If something had been happening in Heaven, if there was news of any weird things wreaking havoc in the world, Castiel rarely mentioned them. But all this was going to change. Because this time Sam and Dean needed information. The Rangers were being targeted and they needed to know why.

"Cas, we have a problem," Dean began. "And I think you might have heard something about it. Demons. Eliminating informers of the Rangers. Ring any bells?"

Castiel hesitated. He nodded, slowly.

"Some bells, yes," he admitted. "I heard the rumor and was worried about you. Were any of them your men?"

"No," Sam answered. "That's the strange bit. From what we managed to find out, our informers are mostly safe and accounted for. It's other Rangers being hit."

"For now," Dean completed.

Sam inspected Castiel thoughtfully. He wondered if he should not ask the most pressing question. Dean still appeared to want to avoid it, but they could not skate around the issue for ever. Sam leaned forward.

"Castiel," he began hesitantly. "These attacks…do you think they're a message…for us, I mean?"

"Sam," Dean said warningly.

Sam pretended to ignore him, his eyes fixed on Castiel.

"Cas?" he insisted. "Is this about us?"

Castiel was silent for a while. Sam was beginning to think he would refuse to answer. In the end, however, he shook his head.

"You could say this is about you, but not in the sense that you think. This is not about you as Hunters. It is about you as members of the Anlashok."

Dean frowned, once more interested in the conversation.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

Castiel did not answer right away. He looked around him. To the untrained eye, the encounters in that small bar on that backwater planet were the same as ever. Nothing was changed. But someone who looked closely could feel the subtle shift in view. The Interstellar Alliance was relatively new – six years was not long for a political body. Yet slowly but surely it was changing the world – altering perspectives, providing understanding where usually there would be only deception. Offering guidance without being overbearing. At times Castiel wondering if Sam and Dean – or anyone else who worked for the Alliance – could understand the entire magnitude of what they were doing. They were creating something unique and incredible and – for those who preferred things to be as they were – terribly threatening.

"Long ago the Angels and the First Ones divided the galaxy between themselves," Castiel said. "I believe I mentioned this before."

Sam looked baffled, but Dean nodded.

"You have. In Purgatory. You had a lot of nerve, if you ask me – all of you."

Castiel shrugged. He accepted Dean's accusation. Lately it seemed to him, too, that instead of tending their flock as they were supposed to, Angels preferred to use humans, some even disdainfully. After years spent with Sam and Dean, Castiel could see that was wrong. He also knew he was the exception.

"The First Ones have been gone for some years. And many have started whispering that they have left a vacuum – one that demands to be filled."

Sam and Dean exchanged concerned looks.

"Who thinks that?" Sam demanded. "Angels?"

Castiel nodded reluctantly.

"Angels – demons…practically everyone who considers they could do a better job taking under their wing those formerly in the care of the First Ones."

Dean slammed his fist against the table.

"Are they ever going to let us go our own way? We don't need to be under anyone's wing. Least of all some dicks who were planning to end it all a few years back anyway."

The words made Castiel look even more uncomfortable. He avoided catching Dean's eyes.

"There are some factions that still think not ending the world then was a mistake…they believe humanity – and not only – is too lost to go on."

Sam shook his head. His mind went to Babylon 5 and to Tuzzanor, where people of all races were tirelessly working to keep the world together – following a dream they believed in so completely, they were willing to give everything to keep it standing.

"Cas, to me it seems like we're just beginning to find ourselves."

Dean nodded. Normally he would have teased Sam mercilessly for such overblown phrases. But he understood where Sam came from – and agreed wholeheartedly.

"We're going to find whoever's doing this. And we're gonna take the son of a bitch down. Him and everyone that agrees with him – so if any of your Angel buddies are in on this…you tell them they'll have the Winchesters to worry about."

Castiel finally looked Dean in the eye.

"Not only the Winchesters," he vowed.

Dean's lips twitched with the beginning of a smile, understanding full well what Castiel wanted to say. Sam looked at their friend, concerned.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Cas? After all…you've always been a little…wary when it came to the Minbari. Forbidden territory and all."

"Forbidden by the Vorlons. The Vorlons are gone. Besides, you have always been telling me about the importance of making your own choices…I've said before that it has made an impression. The Interstellar Alliance is about making your own choices – standing on your own. I think it is worth protecting."

Castiel looked from Sam to Dean, as if taking them in, assessing them and finding them unchanged in their ideals.

"I believe I will join you in this Hunt," he announced gravely.

Dean's smile widened. He gripped Castiel's arm momentarily.

"Welcome abroad, Cas," he said.

 **Motel on colony 10**

After their talk with Castiel, Sam and Dean found themselves a motel for the night. Castiel had gone back to Heaven to "do some digging of his own". So far, he only knew vague rumors, and he probably would be unable to find out much more. The attacks on the informers of the Rangers were, after all, made by demons. They needed inside knowledge of a different kind. Which meant the Winchesters had to prepare themselves for a rather irritating conversation. Since it involved summoning a demon, it was better if they did that in the privacy of their hotel, instead of a crowded bar.

"Besides," Dean said as the two were working on the Devil's trap, to make sure their guest did not escape to attack them. "I ain't buying him drinks."

Sam chuckled.

"Don't really think Crowley's a drinks from a backwater planet kind of guy."

Dean grunted.

"I knew there was a reason I didn't like him." He paused and looked at Sam concerned. "You said this motel is good for this?"

Sam nodded.

"Apparently, you can murder someone here and they'll look the other way. If you know what palms to grease."

Or what necks to threaten to break, Dean mused. Since joining the Rangers, their finances were not as low– and most were legal. But that did not mean Dean had any intention of wasting them on bribing motel owners.

Summoning Crowley was always a risk – summoning any demon was, but Crowley was not just about any demon. Although, he was usually less inclined to kill the Winchesters – if he thought they could be useful to him in other ways. Unlike the usual blast-first-ask-questions-later garden variety demons, Crowley had the strategic thinking of a businessman. He always tried to find the solution that suited him best.

Sam recited the summoning spell and Crowley appeared in the room. His expression was one of fury – until he saw Sam and Dean. Then his face took on a look of exasperation, mixed with resignation.

"Really, boys?" he asked mildly. "I thought you were done with these games. After all, haven't you moved on to better things?"

He made to step further into the room, but found he could not move. He looked down and saw the Devil's trap. He rolled his eyes.

"That is not the way to conduct a polite conversation."

Sam and Dean stared back at him unmoved.

"It is with you," Dean said firmly. "Unless you convince us you're not behind the attacks."

Crowley did not appear perturbed.

"What attacks exactly? I am the King of Hell, after all. My department specializes in mayhem."

"Is your department also specialized in knocking off Anlashok informers just for kicks?" Sam challenged.

There was no hint of surprise on Crowley's face.

"Oh. That. I should have expected you to catch up when it hit that close to home."

"So it was you?" Sam insisted.

But Crowley shook his head.

"Now, why would I do a thing like that? I have no interest with the Rangers, or with whatever scraps the Vorlon and the Shadows have left behind. If you ask me, those two were always petulant. They forbade us to play with their toys, while they always stole ours when our backs were turned."

Sam's fists clenched.

"We're not toys, Crowley."

Crowley raised his eyebrows.

"Aren't you? Because from where I am standing – that's exactly what you are. Have you forgotten your initial purpose? It wasn't to run around in bad imitations of medieval costumes playing with fancy pikes – no subtext implied, this time."

Sam heard Dean's indrawn breath beside him. He was losing patience fast. Not that Sam could blame him. Crowley had always this skill of annoying someone to distraction. Still, Sam reasoned, they needed him.

"So you're not involved in the attacks – at all?"

Crowley huffed.

"One, I would get no benefits whatsoever from attacking the Anlashok. Two, I know if I do so, I would have you on my back, and frankly, I could do without the hassle. Three, this is something much bigger. The attacks on the Anlashok, they're just the tip of the iceberg. You've been offline for five years, as far the supernatural is concerned. Do you think we've been idle?"

Sam and Dean exchanged questioning glances. Sam nodded minutely and Dean turned to Crowley. He took a step forward and erased part of the Devil's Trap. He eyes Crowley suspiciously.

"Talk," he demanded.

 **Babylon 5. Bar in Brown Sector**

From his table near the counter, Llewellyn could see everyone entering and leaving the bar. So far, he spotted a few illicit transactions – drugs, he thought, probably Dust, too, which tailed with what his contacts had been telling him – some dubious deals involving ladies of the night, and something that may or may not have been someone paying an assassin. All small things, that were the job of station security. As long as no one has talking war or planning to overthrow the alliance, it was not Llewellyn's business.

Still, Llewellyn felt uncharacteristically nervous. He had no idea why. It was not as if he was on the frontier. He was on Babylon 5, to meet an informer and then move on, probably to Mars. He hoped it would be to Mars. It would mean touching base with his mother. He had not seen her in a while.

As he sat there, in the relative anonymity of the shady bar, he could not shake off the feeling he was being watched. He looked around him, but could see nothing amiss – except the usual, but none of that was any threat to him. He shifted, restlessly. His contact was late. It should not have bothered him. Mr. T – as the young, would- be king of the Babylon 5 underworld liked to call himself – was not exactly the most reliable person. Probably a lot of people would not have considered him a trustworthy informant. But Llewellyn searched for the potential in people – years of serving first under Jeffrey Sinclair, then under Delenn had taught him that. And he knew Mr. T, despite less than stellar beginnings and bad choices, had plenty of good in him. Llewellyn trusted him.

Twenty minutes after the set meeting time, Mr. T finally appeared. Heads turned as he passed. Mr. T had his usual extravagant purple suit hanging on his slim frame, giving him the appearance of a scarecrow. The fedora was a new touch, and it clashed horribly with his suit. The sunglasses were missing, though. Perhaps someone had finally gotten through to him with the truth that one did not need sunglasses on a space station.

Despite his appearance being completely Mr. T, Llewellyn could not help noticing that his behavior was rather strange. His flamboyant swagger was gone. Instead he walked stiffly, as if he was no longer used with his lanky stature. His constant, slightly idiotic grin was gone. His eyes passed over Llewellyn twice without apparent recognition. Only the third time he nodded to him and made his way to the Ranger's table.

"You're late, you know," Llewellyn pointed out without much rancor – anger was usually wasted on Mr. T.

"I know," Mr. T replied soberly.

Llewellyn raised his eyebrows. Usually his informant used this remark as a pretext to enlarge on some tall tale, probably invented, but that never made it any less exciting. Llewellyn tolerated these flights to fantasy. He had the impression that, despite Mr. T's claim to importance, he was actually small fish among the bandits of Babylon 5 – and he was lonely. But this time, apparently, there would be no story.

"Well," Llewellyn said, rather at a loss. "You said you had something important to tell me – and only me. A message of some sort."

Mr. T hesitated. He looked around him at the crowded bar. He shook his head.

"Not here. Let's go somewhere more private."

Llewellyn frowned.

"You never liked privacy. You always need to be the center of attention – to be seen."

Mr. T shrugged.

"I need privacy for this."

The tendrils of suspicion were getting worse. Something was wrong with Mr. T and Llewellyn could not really put his finger on what it was. Could he be in danger? Had someone threatened him because of his association with the Anlashok?

"All right," Llewellyn said, because if one wanted to keep people like Mr. T on retainer, one needed to humor them. "Let's go somewhere else, then."

He got up and followed Mr. T. out of the bar. The informer led Llewellyn further into Downbelow. Fewer and fewer people were around. Llewellyn was beginning to think he had made a mistake. He still found it hard to believe Mr. T was leading him into an ambush, though. It was not his style.

They walked on, until they rounded a corner. There was nothing there but broken machinery. Mr. T stopped, his back to Llewellyn.

"That far enough for you?" Llewellyn asked, barely hiding his irritation.

The figure in front of him straightened.

"Yes," he said, in a voice that did not belong to Mr. T. "Yes, this is quite far."

He turned around slowly. And as he did, Llewellyn froze. The man's eyes were completely black. He grinned, seeing Llewellyn's expression of stunned disbelief.

"I'm afraid your charming friend is unavailable for the moment. Probably for good, I suppose."

Llewllyn's hand moved to his pike.

"What the hell is this? Who are you?"

Mr. T – or whatever it was – flicked his fingers lazily and Llewellyn's pike flew from his hands. Llewellyn tried to back away, but the thing raised his hand once more, and sent him flying into a wall. He staggered to get up, with the black-eyed creature standing above him.

"No hard feelings," Mr. T said casually. "It really isn't about you. I just need a message sent to the Winchesters. And I think you're the right person for it."

He raised his hand once more. The last thing Llewellyn knew was that he was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it.

 **Right…sorry for ending this chapter like this. Expect updates once a week, give or take one or two days. At least for now. I'll let you know if anything changes.**


	3. Chapter 3 New Enemy Revealed

**Chapter 3 New Enemy Revealed**

 **Third chapter is here. Some things are explained – or made even more confusing. A few ideas from cannon, with a weird spin to them, excuse the blasphemy ;). Thanks for your continuing interest. I hope you'll like this one too.**

 **I don't own the shows, this is just a bastardized version of them. I don't own most of the characters, either. I owned Llewellyn, for all the good that did to him.**

 **Colony 10. Motel.**

Sam and Dean sat on their respective beds, while Crowley paced the length of the room. At any other time there would have been snide comments about his need to declaim and his delusions of grandeur. But both brothers were too anxious to pay much mind to his eccentricities.

"After the Leviathan were driven back," Crowley began, "everything went quiet. I suppose most were stunned. The past few years had not been exactly a picnic. The Gates of Hell opening, then Lillith and the Seals, then Lucifer and the Apocalypse, the charming Eve and so forth. I need not repeat the list to you. You were in the middle of it all the time."

"We were put there," Sam pointed out. "And we tried to fix things."

To the brothers' surprise, Crowley actually nodded.

"That you did. I'll give you that. Which makes one wonder…how things would have gone, had you not decided playing border patrol was more important that Hunting."

Crowley paused and sat down in the small, uncomfortable chair at the other edge of the room. He looked thoughtfully from Dean to Sam. Dean scowled.

"Don't keep us in suspense. What happened?"

Crowley shrugged.

"I do not rightly know. At least, I do not know what lead to it. I was content with things as they were. Hell was mine, after the Shadows and President Clark's regime, there were plenty of souls to keep us busy. Frankly, it's getting a little overcrowded in our torture chambers. We're thinking of enlarging our premises. Not enough room."

"Let's skip the hell-remodeling lesson and fast forward to how informers of the Rangers started getting killed," Dean urged.

"It did not take long for us to realize the First Ones were gone and their…flocks were sheperdless, if you'll allow me an overused cliché. That was bound to spark a few ambitions. Add that to the fact that Heaven was in shambles – after his disastrous stint as Sheriff of Heaven, our darling Castiel is never going to be trusted in a position of authority again, as for most of his kind, they're overly ambitious and bicker like cranky children. There's no one to rule with a firm hand there and rumor has it there have been a few rebellions in Paradise. But I'm sure your dear Cas has mentioned all this to you."

Crowley paused staring at Sam and Dean meaningfully. The two brothers avoided looking at each other. Suddenly, Cas' frequent evasions made more sense. Dean's look turned stony.

"What about you?" he demanded. "You wouldn't be telling us all of this, if you were holding things together at your end."

A brief flicker of fury appeared on Crowley's face. He mastered it quickly.

"I _am_ holding things together, thank you very much. But, yes, lately there has been…dissension in my domain. More than usual. I do not authorize targeting the Anlashok, but someone does. Things are starting to look a mess, frankly. It hasn't been like that since Lucifer was freed."

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean caught Sam tensing.

"But," Sam began reasonably, "he can't be out. Can he?"

Anyone who did not know Sam well – and Dean was beginning to think no one knew his brother as well as he did – would have taken this as a casual request for information and nothing more. Dean, however, caught the vague tremble in Sam's voice. He got up and went to stand behind Sam. Crowley pretended not to take any notice.

"Now _that_ , I think, I would know," he said. "Although, it might be just a matter of time. Everything has been upside down, lately. Ever since…"

He paused and looked at the two. Once more, he wondered how things would have been now, if the Winchesters had been active in the Hunting world when the mess started. Knowing the two, they might have broken the world completely. Or, they might just have saved them all – again.

"About a year after the Leviathans were back in Purgatory, someone set free a very powerful demon – Abbadon, a Knight of Hell – very powerful, almost impossible to destroy. Abbadon was mostly in hiding. Not a lot of people knew she was there, not at first. But she started getting bolder and bolder, and at one point she even declared open war against me."

"And you just let her get away with it?" Sam asked skeptically.

"It was not about letting her do anything. We are talking very powerful, high-level demon. Not one you could just chuck Holy Water at. There were not many ways to kill her. A few Hunters tried – inspired, no doubt, by your legendary deeds – or thinking they could do better. Save the word with less damage. Funny enough, one of those was a pair of brothers. People called them the new Winchesters."

Dean snorted.

"Now that I'd like to see."

"You can't actually," Crowley said dryly. "See, in order to kill Abbadon, one of them took on the Mark of Cain. Now, that's a nasty bit of work."

"I'm guessing that did not work too well," Sam deduced.

Crowley nodded.

"In many ways, it did exactly what it was supposed to do. Abbadon is dead. However, dark power like that of the Mark…there could have been only one outcome in the end."

"He killed his brother," Sam discovered.

Because that was the obvious conclusion one could reach, when he heard Cain's name. What else could one expect after taking on that Mark?

Beside him, Sam heard Dean shift. Turning your back on one's family always hit Dean on a personal level. Attacking your own brother was beyond Dean's comprehension. Sam nearly smiled, only he did not want to appear a sap in front of Crowley.

"Funnily enough, you guessed correctly," Crowley said. "Problem is, this Mark of Cain is really a lose-lose situation. You keep it, you become a cold-blooded murderer, bent on extermination. You try to erase it – let alone that it's next to impossible, you also set lose powers beyond your comprehension. You do the deed it's been leading you to do…despite what team Michael and team Lucifer might have had you think, fratricide isn't all the rage. Under normal circumstances, it earns you extra sessions downstairs with our best torturer, wrack and whips on the house. But those weren't normal circumstances."

"So where's this dickbag now?" Dean asked sharply. "He still alive?"

"In a manner of speaking. He has become something else. Not entirely human. Not demon either. The Mark is gone, but there's something of its essence still in him, and now he has nothing and no one holding him back."

"I don't understand," Sam admitted. "What's he after?"

"Chaos," Crowley answered. "The bigger, the better. And since your intrepid president and his charming first lady stand for the opposite of chaos…well, you see how you might be a thorn in his side. Usually I'd sympathize, but…"

Dean scoffed.

"But, he's after you as well," he deduced. "Right?"

Crowley sighed. Now they came to the crux of the problem.

"I want him gone," he admitted. "And you want him gone. So I was thinking – maybe we should try a…shall we say…a mutually beneficial agreement?"

Dean snorted. Sam's face turned stony.

"I did help you in the past," Crowley pointed out. "With Dick Roman…"

"I got blown up, then," Dean reminded him.

" _You told me Dean was dead._ "

Dean cast Sam a concerned look. Sam rarely allowed his emotions to be so on the surface. He wondered what exactly Crowley had said to him after the explosion.

"Despite what you no doubt flatteringly think about me, Moose, I'm not omniscient. There was no way to predict the explosion – or that Dean was in Purgatory."

As a matter of fact, Crowley had guessed Dean was not dead. But he remembered how Sam had been when Dean had gone to Hell, how he had been used by demons and manipulated until he turned into what they wanted. Crowley had thought he could try to do a bit of manipulating of his own. He could have done with someone like Sam, and Crowley knew enough about the Winchesters to take advantage of Sam's grief over his supposedly dead brother. But before he could do any taking advantage, Sam had vanished off the face of the world. When he had finally resurfaced, Dean was back from Purgatory, and the Winchesters had switched allegiance in a completely unexpected manner. Crowley still did not know what to feel about that. For one thing, he could now breathe more freely. For another – the Winchesters were good at solving messes. Besides, Crowley did not find riling other Hunters up quite as fun.

"Say we do decide to work with you," Sam said at length. "What guarantee can we have that you won't double-cross us the minute it's good for you?"

Crowley smirked.

"Well, none really. But I am honest when I say I have no interest in the Alliance. I just want to get rid of a nuisance – so, I'm calling in Pest Control."

The deal was not exactly to Sam and Dean's liking – and working with demons was always going to make them uncomfortable. But Crowley was a mine of information and they needed all the help they could get.

"Cas is gonna love this," Dean commented, when Crowley was gone.

 **Impala.**

Sam and Dean left Colony 10 the very next day. Their plan was to go to Mars, touch base with Jody and Garth and reconnect with some of the Hunters still active. This was a problem that had to be tackled on all fronts. They did not talk for a long while, not really knowing what to say. There were plenty of topics that were too raw for them to mention up front.

"You know, we have to figure out how to gank him," Dean spoke at length.

Sam sighed.

"You do know he's human, Dean."

"Not anymore," Dean said uncompromisingly. "Not according to Crowley."

Right, Sam thought, because they were suddenly going to believe Crowley completely, when they knew he had the habit of twisting the truth.

"Besides," Dean went on, "I don't care what the Mark of Cain was making him do. He killed his brother."

Sam leaned his head against the seat. His face grew somber, his eyes staring unseeingly at the stars.

"He might have had a good reason," he said quietly.

Dean spluttered. He half-turned to stare at Sam disbelievingly.

"You did not just say that! That means you'll knife me in the back, if you had a good reason? What's a good reason anyway, Sam? Music too loud? Snoring too much? Shirt too smelly?"

Sam's eyes widened. It would have been comical, if the topic was not so macabre.

"What?" he cried. "No! No, I never said I'd…not you. You're…you're _you_. There never would be a reason. I was just…well, I was just thinking…"

Sam paused and Dean did not ask him to continue. He knew what Sam had been thinking. A few years back, during a sharing-and-caring ritual before joining the Rangers, Dean found out at one point Sam had received a message thinking it was from him in which some very hateful things were said – among them being Dean's supposed intention of killing Sam. It still horrified Dean, and he did not really know what broke his heart the most – that Sam had tackled Lucifer and cast himself into Hell – for eternity, as they had both thought – thinking that message had been from Dean, that, while Dean was in Purgatory Sam still thought the message was genuine, or that he had never once tried to contradict it. Sam was no pushover. He gave as good as he got. Even when he sensed he might be in the wrong, he was too proud to just admit it. He usually thought to make his side of things heard. So, for him to just accept the message meant he had believed each and every word of it. And the thought still gave Dean nightmares.

He thought they were over it. He thought that, with the discovery that the message had never been sent by Dean, that Dean's message had been completely different, completely the opposite, they would be able to move on. Sam had acknowledged the misunderstanding and had seemed a little better since then, more secure in his place with Dean. But there were things that could not be completely fixed – some wounds that never healed for good. There was always something to open them up. And Dean was aware they both had issues of galactic proportions. Such issues could not be erased for good.

" _Nothing_ would be a good enough reason for that, Sammy," Dean said heartily. "Do you hear me? Nothing!"

Sam turned startled eyes towards Dean. He swallowed slightly, his stance relaxing and something akin to gratitude appearing on his face.

"Yeah," he said quickly. "Yeah, I hear you."

Dean resolved then and there not to mention the topic of fratricide unless there were other people present.

It was the day after that they received their message from Ralph. They had not expected to be contacted until they reached Mars, so they immediately knew something was not as it should have been. Hearing Ralph's slightly shell-shocked voice was not that much of a surprise.

" _Sam, Dean, something's happened. It's…well, it's Llewellyn."_

Sam and Dean exchanged worried looks. The feeling of something oppressive crept over them. Suddenly, Dean was sure he did not want to hear the rest of the message.

"Llewellyn? What's wrong with him? He was supposed to be on B5, right?"

Ralph sighed heavily.

" _Yeah, he…he was there. He's…he was killed. It's the same as before. And, Dean, in the place where he's found, there's a big W on the wall…written in blood."_

Dean swore. Sam did not say anything, his face hardening, turning to stone, his body tensing. Dean knew the signs, he knew this was Sam shutting down, Sam deciding to keep the world out of his mind, because it he let anyone see what was going on inside him, he would surely break. Dean could not blame him. Llewellyn had been a friend – and had paid the price for it.

" _They were talking at headquarters about reaching his family,"_ Ralph was saying. " _I don't even know if he had one…"_

"He has a mother on Mars," Sam said. "Tell them not to bother. We're on our way. I'll tell her face to face."

Dean watched Sam concerned, noticing Sam had said _I_ and not _we_. Sam meant to see Llewellyn's mother alone. It might have made more sense – Sam knew her, after all, while Dean had never seen her. But this was not Sam being practical. This was Sam taking the blame all on himself. Dean wanted to tell Sam to stop – he should not be doing this, he should not attempt penance for something that wasn't really his fault. Because it _wasn't_ his fault, Dean told himself fiercely. It wasn't either of their faults. Except…

"You know, when I went to see her first," Sam began, his hoarse, mechanical voice snapping Dean's attention to him, "With that star chart that would take me to the portal to Purgatory…I was wearing a Ranger uniform and I walked in her office…She looked up and she saw the uniform…and her face fell. She thought I was there to bring bad news about her son. She was expecting that call. She's always been expecting that call."

Dean sighed, because he wished things were easier on Sam – but they couldn't be.

"It's the job, Sam," he pointed out. "She knows it. Llewellyn knew it too."

Sam's expression darkened.

"Llewellyn did not die because of the job. He died because he knew us. He died because some nutjob wanted to send us a message. He shouldn't have died like that."

Dean could not argue with that. No matter how much he wanted.

 **Mars**

Once on Mars, Sam and Dean separated, Dean to touch base with Jody as planned, Sam to the Museum of Interplanetary History where Llewellyn's mother was curator. Dean would have offered to go with him – there were moments when it made his blood freeze whenever Sam was out of his sight – but he sensed something in Sam and decided to drop it. If Sam needed to do this alone, that was his right. They might have been a united front now, but there were still certain things they did differently. Grieving was one of them. Sam grieved privately, at first. When he was ready to talk, he would come to Dean. Until then, all Dean could do was wait him out.

Sam walked the streets of Mars – the familiar sights always bitter-sweet to him. This had been Bobby's home, and Sam knew he would never be able to step foot on Mars without feeling Bobby close, no matter how many years passed. And Bobby was dead because he knew the Winchesters – he was not the first and he most definitely had not been the last.

As he walked, Sam's mind went to Llewellyn. He remembered the first time he met the Ranger, on the White Star that was to take Sam to the Enphili homeworld and the beginning of his desperate search for his brother. Llewellyn had been more than accommodating then. True, most was due to orders from Delenn, but Llewellyn had actually gone out of his way. He had tried to give Sam a purpose, to keep his mind busy. He had understood Sam, even when he had not completely agreed with him. He had offered help whenever he was able. He had been kind to Sam when Sam had needed the kindness the most. And Sam had forgotten to mention that being kind to the Winchesters usually brought with it a death sentence.

Sam stopped abruptly. He suddenly realized something was wrong. At first, he thought it was the world, something had shifted in the air, sound and sight had become unclear. But Sam realized with a jolt it was actually him. He staggered, suddenly feeling his brain about to explode. He knew the pain, knew the feeling of moving away from reality, of being taken somewhere else. he had not experienced it for years. But he could still remember those times, images of death that had not happened yet, visions of fire and burning ceiling's, days before the flames came to swallow up his life.

 **I know…yet another cliffhanger…I hope you're still with me after I twisted the original storyline until it became a different beast altogether. Incidentally, I always had issues with the Mark of Cain thing, even though it did offer us some great character development for both the brothers. The thing is, what bothered me most was that Dean was supposedly going to get rid of the Mark if he killed Sam. Which, essentially meant he would be redeemed through murder. But murder is a big taboo in a lot of cultures, especially murdering one's flesh and blood (and yeah, I know a lot of those involved thought Sam had a lot of issues and probably had it coming, but still…). I was always wondering: what if the Mark would, in fact, not just go away, if Dean killed Sam? What if things were actually taken to another level? I've always wanted to explore this, but I'm not big on death fics and, anyway, the show got one thing right: Dean would under no circumstances kill Sam. So I weaved the story of the Mark – its aftermath, anyway – in this fic, using different characters. I hope I didn't offend any SPN purists, but since you're reading this story, I assume you can probably tolerate a different interpretation :)**


	4. Chapter 4 News from the hunting ground

**Chapter 4 News from the hunting ground**

 **OK…assuming I haven't put you off with the previous chapter, here's the next installment. Enjoy!**

 **If you recognize them from either show, then they're not mine.**

Something was wrong. It was the only conscious thought in Sam's mind. Something was very wrong. He could not be having a vision. Not now. Not again. And Dean wasn't even there with him…

 _It was a dark room, all cold metal and broken parts – an abandoned shipyard of some kind, or some fallen building, still inaccessible, in the San Diego Ruins. There was a figure pacing to and fro. He moved too quickly. His face was indistinguishable. It could have been anyone's. It could even have been Sam's. There was something about that person. Coldness and death and endless regret. And hate…hate for the world – hate mixed with sorrow and loss. He was looking for something. Fervently, he needed to find something. Sam could sense his urgency, like he was bound to him, like Sam was the only person who could understand him. And, Sam realized with a jolt, he could. He knew that guilt. He knew that loss. He knew the need to do anything to redress it. Anything – even break the world. Sam could not see the man's face, but he knew, he felt, this was a person ready to break the world. And Sam was sure he did not need visions to know the cause._

Sam's eyes snapped open. He was back on Mars. He was kneeling against a building, with his head pounding, faintly registering he had gathered quite a crowd.

 **Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth's place**

Garth – or Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth, as he liked to call himself – was originally from Earth. He emigrated to Mars at a young age, more to prove a point than anything. He encountered Bobby Singer there and, through a series of strange events he never really shared with anyone, had become embroiled in the world of hunting. At first, people had no idea how to take him. He was a far cry from the gruff, rough around the edges old-school Hunters. His eccentricity and over-the-top enthusiasm made it difficult for people to take him seriously. He was a good hunter, though, and quickly moved in higher circles. When Bobby died he took on the mantle, unofficially, at first, then for real, with the Winchester's blessing. He was Hunter Headquarters, now, the place people called when they needed research done, or when they wanted to solve a mess with the authorities. He was the one those who knew about hunting called, when they needed a supernatural problem solved. During the past few years, Garth had dedicated himself to compiling a database of supernatural creatures, entities and events in all the Alliance races, aided by Sam – actually, Sam had been the one to suggest it, and he was the chief researcher and, as Garth liked to call him "the silent partner". When the library was complete, though, Garth had every intention of revealing everything about Sam's help. People needed to know about his contribution.

Dean stood in front of Garth's house, eyeing the eccentric construction with the usual amusement. No doubt the Martian Housing Committee must have raised a few eyebrows. Dean had no idea how they approved Garth's request in the first place. He was not really surprised, though. Garth always had a knack of getting things done.

He'd given up going to Jody first, sending her a message that they would both see her soon, and to tell Sam to contact him as soon as he got there. He did not send any messages to Sam. Since his discovery of that dreadful message, he was reluctant to do so, afraid someone might highjack his voice again and used it to shatter his brother. Some might have called it an irrational fear – it had happened once, it surely had little chances of happening again, right? Plus, Sam wouldn't fall for the same trick again, would he? But Dean was a Winchester, and he knew things were much more complicated when it came to them.

Dean entered the house – no one knocked, Garth had a policy against friends knocking. Garth must have seen him coming, because he bounded on Dean the minute he was inside. Dean had actually been hoping to avoid the hug this time.

"Hey, Dean!" Garth greeted enthusiastically. "Where's your other half?"

"You'll see Sam later," Dean told him gruffly. "I need some information."

"It's been a while, man," Garth pointed out. "Are you two back Hunting?"

"As long as we have a common problem, we are," Dean replied without hesitation.

As he had told Sam, they were the best ones to deal with this problem. But they were dealing with it on behalf of the Alliance more than anything. They were no longer trying to fix a world to which they owed nothing and which owed quite a lot to them. The Angels and Demons could have their political battles as long as they left everyone else out of them. Sam and Dean had been done being used a long time ago.

"What do you know about the New Winchesters?" Dean asked.

Garth raised his eyebrows.

"You've heard the name, then. It's not really accurate. They were never you."

"Well, what _were_ they?" Dean prompted.

Garth's narrative was disjointed and long winded. But slowly, Dean managed to put together the gist of it. There were two brothers – Ivan and Albert Lukassen, from the Russian Consortium. Ivan, the eldest, was about Sam's age. Albert was seven or eight years younger. They had been pretty low-key for a while, even though they had both been active in the hunting field since they were teens. But back then, they had probably been eclipsed by Sam and Dean. People had been too busy talking about the Winchesters – for good or for bad – to pay attention to another pair of brothers. Especially since there had been nothing scandalous about them at first. But then the youngest started dabbling a bit in spells. Nothing harmful and probably it had been prompted by other interests – especially as he was dating another witch, or almost witch – who, strangely enough, also happened to be a Hunter.

"We might want to talk to her," Dean said. "What's her name?"

Garth's lips quirked up.

"Max Banes," he answered promptly. "Not short for Maxine, if that was your next answer."

"Oh. Never heard of him."

Garth waved that aside.

"Younger generation," he pointed out. "Probably grew up on stories of you, though."

"How did Ivan react?" Dean deflected. "To Max, I mean."

Ivan was, apparently, old school in more ways than one. He did not want his younger brother associated with a witch – and a male witch at that. There were some fights, the two split up for a bit, but they reunited again. There was another rough spot a year later, this time having to do with a woman Ivan was quite attached to. She had been taken by shapeshifters as leverage, the two brothers had gone to rescue her, but something went wrong – and Ivan always heavily implied it was Albert's fault – and the woman was killed. Albert never refuted the accusation.

After another brief separation, the Lukassens got together again. It seemed they always did this, separated then reunited, helplessly drawn to each other's presence. _Just like you and Sam_ , a voice told Dean, and he tried to quash it. Because the Lukassens were nothing like him and Sam. They could not have been. Dean knew he would never have killed Sam, Mark or no Mark. He probably would not have been as dumb as to take the Mark in the first place – although Dean decided not to think too much on that, the Winchesters were known for desperate plans, after all. What was certain, though, what Dean would insist for as long as there was breath in his body – was that he would have never killed Sam. He would have stopped himself somehow.

"So, what about the Mark of Cain?" he asked harshly.

Garth's face took on an uncharacteristically grave expression.

"That was bad. About two years ago Albert called me in a panic. He told me about the Mark, asked me to research ways of removing it. Actually, he ordered me to drop everything and focus only on how to remove it."

"Did you?"

Garth shrugged.

"Within reason. Albert was about to shatter entire planets. It was the first time they actually reminded me of you two. I wanted to help them. There was trouble – doom and darkness and all the rest. But I tried to help them. I found a few solutions, but…"

He stopped again, looking helpless. Dean understood.

"They didn't take."

"I assume you know how it ended. Albert dead, Ivan vanished off the face of the galaxy."

"Well, he's back," Dean informed. "And he's allied with demons and attacking everything in sight – or will soon. I want us to do something about it. I want you to call a Hunter council."

Garth gaped at him.

"A what? Man, there hasn't been one of those in ages. Not even in the time of Lucifer! I mean, we're not on one planet anymore, we're scattered all over the Galaxy."

Dean waved this aside.

"Make it happen. I don't care how. Have as many of them as possible here within a week. And I want Max Banes in particular."

Garth shook his head.

"You don't ask for much, do you?"

Dean's eyes flashed.

"I ask for a way to stop Ivan Lukassen. And all of you are going to help me."

 **Streets of Mars**

"I think he's coming round."

"Sir, lie still"

"Should we call someone?"

"You know who we should call."

"You saw what that was."

Sam groaned. The disjointed voices made no sense. The aftermath of the vision – if that was what it had been was still playing in his head. He could barely register where he was, or who he was. All he knew was that he was lying on the ground with too many people around him. He tried to get up, but someone pushed him back.

"Sir, don't move. You need to lie down. You need to stay still."

Sam did not need to lie down. He did not need to stay still. He needed Dean, though. He wanted him there. Yes, he was over thirty years old and he needed his brother to get his world pieced together again. Yes, he was aware of his codependency issues, thank you very much. He had diagnosed himself back at Stanford and over the years he found he could not give a damn. It was a free galaxy, after all. He could keep on needing Dean until they were both old and helpless with all their teeth falling. It would still be only his and Dean's problem and the rest of the world could go hang.

Once again, Sam tried to push himself up, irritably batting away the hands trying to keep him still.

"My brother," he muttered, finding his words heavy and his throat hoarse. "I've got to get to my brother."

"Sam?"

Sam turned around, keeping a hand firmly against the wall, to keep himself steady. The voice was vaguely familiar. It brought to him a sense of grief and for an instant, he was too much in shock after his vision, to fully register why he should feel that way. Then, he caught the woman's face above him, through the haze of pain, and he knew. This was the one he had come to see. Lena McDuff, Llewellyn's mother. And he had terrible news for her.

Sam tried to shake off the last vestiges of the incident. He felt Lena's hand on his trembling back and heard her talking to the crowd. He had to urge himself to concentrate on what she was saying:

"It's alright. I know him. He's a friend of my son, you see."

The words caused Sam to flinch. Because he had indeed been a friend of Llewellyn's, and look where that got him. And Lena didn't know, and she was being so kind to him, just like her son had been, and Sam hated it, because as sure as hell he didn't deserve it. Not from her. He cursed himself for his incredibly bad timing, for getting the vapors right outside Lena's workplace. She was focused on him and she shouldn't have been.

Beyond Lena's words, Sam could hear other people arguing.

"But he's a telepath, Ma'am," one of them was saying, "That was a mind-burst, I could swear to it."

Well, what else could they think, Sam mused darkly, after they saw him go down with his hands clutching his head, probably screaming, too?

"Nonsense," Lena said firmly. "It wasn't anything of the kind, right, Sam?"

Sam cleared his throat. This was his chance to clear this mess.

"No," he said firmly, "No, it wasn't a mind-burst. It was a…"

 _Vision. Say it, Sam. Say it out loud. Like that's gonna sound any better._ He bit his lips, trying to think of an explanation that would not land him in a locked room – or with the Psi-Corps.

He heard himself muttering some half-convincing explanation about an attack and him being hit on the head a little too hard. It was his fault, really, he shouldn't have been wandering about on his own like that. But he had urgent Ranger business to attend to, so what could he do? He was not sure they believed him, but the crowd did begin to scatter. Sam let go of a breath he did not know he had been holding. Only Lena remained at his side.

"I think you'd better come to my office," she said tonelessly. "Judging from the state of you, you wouldn't be here unless you really wanted to talk to me."

And just like that, Sam thought he would rather face the crowd.

Lena led Sam to her office. She locked the door behind her and motioned Sam to sit. She herself went to stand by the window.

"It's bad news, isn't it?" she asked harshly. "I know. You won't look me in the eye. My husband, Llewellyn's father, he was on board the _Icarus_."

Sam's startled eyes moved briefly to her, and she nodded, in a sort of grim approval.

"Oh, yes. You know what happened. The accident. The ship exploding. And when they came to tell me, they would not look me in the eye. Just like you're doing now."

Sam bit his lips. He still would not look up.

"I'm sorry."

He meant more than Llewellyn's death. He meant his involvement in it. The part he had played, however unwilling. He wished he had the guts to confess that to Lena. But he could not. This was not only about him and his need for redemption. Lena might find it easier if she did not know how useless, how senseless Llewellyn's death had been. He was certain Llewellyn did not want her to know.

"Your son was one of the best of us. He did the Anlashok proud – and he was a good friend."

It felt hypocritical to talk about Llewellyn like that. Sam was the last person with the right to do it. Llewellyn had been good. Not like Sam, with his bloody past and endless mistakes. Dean would probably kill him for thinking it, but it felt like the wrong person had died. It should not have been Sam standing here with Lena.

"I am sorry," he repeated again. "I know it doesn't help. I know…"

But he did not, did he? Because, even though he had been in Lena's position plenty of time – losing the only family he had, he always got it back. Dean always came back to him. Lena would not have such luxury. She would never get her son – or her husband back. So what right had Sam to talk to her? He got up abruptly.

"There will be someone to contact you about arrangements," he said, suddenly formal. "And if you need any help at all, we are at your disposal."

Someone else, Sam mused, would deal with Llewellyn's eulogy. Delenn, probably, or Sheridan. Someone more deserving than Sam. He nodded to Lena and left. He found the museum guide and told her Lena had received bad news and needed support. She should not be alone. But she should not be with Sam, either.

 **San Diego Ruins. Earth**

He stood alone among the death signs of centuries ago. It was a fitting place for him – he, death's newest servant. He did not know what he was now, or even who he was. He remembered the name - Ivan Lukassen, from the Russian Consortium. Hunter. But he could not relate the information to himself. He could not define himself with it. And it was hard to do so, when the one person who knew him for who he was had died.

It was funny. He had heard about the Winchesters often and he thought he would never understand them. He'd never get how the two insisted on clinging to each other. He'd never get Dean for forgiving his brother time and time again. He'd never get the two of them breaking the world for each other. Not until now. Not until he'd lost Albert so irredeemably. By his own hand.

Now he knew. Now that he had crossed the line that divided good from evil, he got everything: the sacrifices, the breaking of the world, the deals. He had a front row seat to what the Winchesters had felt. And he was about to follow in their footsteps. He still did not know if it was love for Albert or guilt that I was prompting him. Maybe it did not matter. Maybe they were one and the same.

He had powers now. He could open doors closed to many. He could not bring back the dead, though. Especially not the ones dead by his own hand. He had made connections, though. He had made plenty of deals, selling the Galaxy piece by piece, like it was all his. Now, he needed one last thing. You could not bring back the dead without offering a life in return. And he wanted to do this right. He needed the Winchesters. Well, only one, really, but Ivan was not stupid. He could not risk leaving one of them alive. He knew that, even with what he was now, it would amount to signing his death of warrant.

He looked out at the fallen tangle of concrete and melted steel. And he swore that he would gladly get the entire universe looking like that – if it meant having Albert back by his side.

 **Mars. Jody Mills' place**

When Sam got to Jody's place, Dean was already there. Jody had been called on a case and left with the promise to be back to them as soon as she was able. To be honest, Sam was actually relieved. After his talk with Lena, he felt emotionally drained. He did not think he was up to facing anyone other than Dean until he got his act together.

'What the hell happened to you?" Dean asked as soon as he caught sight of him.

Sam had to hand it to his brother. He had stopped at a restroom on the way and knew he did not look that bad. His face was not pale anymore and his headache had moved from full on power metal concert in his skull to bad but manageable. But while he might be able to fake being alright to most people – it was always different when it came to Dean.

He hesitated. Years back, he would have lied. He would have hidden this from Dean as long as possible, not wanting to worry him , or afraid of his reaction. But he had learned a thing or two in his time as a Ranger. Such as the importance of sharing information instead of hiding it. And maybe…maybe if he started being open to Dean, then Dean might follow his example.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, noticing Sam's hesitation. "You ok?"

Making a decision, Sam crossed the room to sit next to Dean. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for his brother's reaction.

"No," he admitted, forcing himself to meet Dean's concerned gaze. "No, I guess I'm not. Dean…before I got to the museum, something happened to me."

 **Right…I hope you enjoyed. I'll be on holiday for a few weeks, so expect the next chapter around the second week of September. Enjoy the rest of your summer.**


	5. Chapter 5 Preparations for a council

**Chapter 5 Preparations for a council**

 **I'm back. Usual disclaimers apply. This might be a little slow-paced at the start. Apparently, I can't stop analyzing what's in the characters' heads instead of focusing on action. Prepare to meet some familiar and original characters. Enjoy.**

 **Jody Mills' place**

"What the hell, Sam?"

Well, it wasn't as if Sam hadn't expected some kind of explosion. Dean might have been less inclined to overreact – or, maybe, he trusted Sam more these days – but his little brother confessing out of the blue his psychic abilities might be returning was something Dean would never take lightly.

"I mean – visions? How can you be having visions now?"

Sam could read between the lines. If his visions had come from Yellow Eyes and the demon blood – how could he be having them now?

"Maybe it's got something to do with that Mark of Cain thing," Sam said musingly. "Maybe it's latched onto me."

Dean's eyes turned hard.

"Why would it?"

Sam smiled tersely.

"I was Lucifer's vessel. I doubt this is the kind of stuff that ever goes away. And if this guy is so deeply into dark stuff – maybe we're latching onto each other without even realizing it."

Dean studied Sam for a while, as if trying to determine whether he was telling the whole truth. Eventually, he looked away.

"Well," he said in the end, "This guy is Ivan Lukassen and, according to Garth, even before the Mark of Cain he was a total dickwad."

Dean filled Sam in on what happened at Garth. To his surprise, Sam was not as horrified about Ivan's actions as Dean expected him to be.

"I don't know, Dean," he said at length. "I mean, yeah, Ivan wasn't exactly perfect, but they haven't made the person who's never made mistakes."

Dean snorted.

"We've made mistakes, Sam. We've always tried to fix them."

Sam was silent for a very long time. Dean thought he had made his case. Then, Sam frowned.

"Maybe that's what he's trying to do,"

Dean frowned.

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

"He made a mistake. He killed his brother. Now he's trying to fix that. Whatever it takes."

Sam stared long and hard at Dean. This was something Dean could understand. He who spent his entire life trying to keep Sam safe and alive could surely understand.

"Maybe," Dean said uncompromisingly. "Either way, he's going about it the wrong way."

Sam refrained from pointing out that so had they, countless of times. Instead, he decided it was time to change the subject.

"So," he said, clearing his throat. "A Hunter Council. Hasn't been one in a hundred years. Think we can get them here?"

"Garth can pull it off," Dean said convinced. "You'll see. We'll have as many Hunters here as possible by Friday."

 **Orion 7**

The hotel room was dark and quiet. Max let himself in, trying not to make too much noise. It was imperative for him not to be discovered. His life depended on it. He held his breath, but he could not hear anything. Relieved, he took a few steps forward. He was in the middle of the room when the lights turned on, nearly blinding him.

"Really, Max? Did you seriously think you could get away with that?"

Max took a step back.

"Alicia, I can explain."

The girl sitting on one of the beds tilted her head, her eyebrows raised.

"You don't have to explain – I know exactly what happened. You took my ship to impress some dude. Now, what would he say if he knew it actually belongs to your sister?"

Max shrugged, grinning cheekily.

"He'd thank you for your part in tonight's entertainment."

Alicia looked mildly horrified. She lifted her palms in an _I-positively-absolutely-do-not –want –to-know_ gesture. Max chuckled.

"What are you doing up anyway? I thought you'd be sleeping by now."

"Oh, I was. Then Garth called."

Max went to hang his coat.

"We have a case?" he asked distractedly.

Alicia smirked. This was going to floor her brother.

"Actually, we have a Council," she said, and then paused, for effect before declaring. "The Winchesters are calling us."

Max stopped in his tracks.

"The Winchesters? Aren't they retired? They're practically civilians now."

Alicia rolled her eyes.

"You just keep telling yourself that." Her smirk faded, and she looked worriedly at Max. "Garth would not give details, but he did say it was about…well, about Ivan Lukassen."

Max stiffened, his eyes growing dark. Alicia sighed.

"If you want to talk…" she began haltingly.

Max snorted.

"What is there to talk about?" he exclaimed. "That I liked someone and now he's dead, and I'd really like to wring Ivan Lukassen's neck? That's what you want me to say?"

He left the room, slamming the door behind him. Alicia remained staring after him.

"That would be a start," she said softly.

 **Drazi homeworld**

Phil Wilson ran through the stony landscape. He heard a loud boom at one point, but did not look back. He knew what that meant – he had succeeded in blowing up the cave that bound the vengeful spirit to that place. The problem was, when the Drazi authorities found out, there was bound to be retribution. Drazi were fond of their caves, called them sacred. Phil scoffed irreverently. These aliens were all the same –superstitious and irrational to a fault. And ungrateful. Phil didn't even bother, usually, with supernatural events on non-human worlds. He thought it was their mess to deal with. But he owed a favor to another hunter. Plus, he liked blowing things up on alien worlds. It reminded him of the good old days.

His ship was waiting for him in the clearing. He jumped in and took off. He was relieved to see the planet growing smaller under him. Unnatural places, alien planets were. Phil could not wait to be back in human-controlled space. Of course, there was nothing completely human-controlled anymore, was there? Not with the bloody Interstellar Alliance, sticking its nose in everything for all their claims to allowing sovereignty. You could not have independence with the blasted Rangers breathing down your neck all the time. He gritted his teeth. Thinking about Rangers brought an entirely different anger in him. He still could not get over the betrayal of his own flesh and blood joining a Minbari-led organization.

Only when he had already set the coordinates for Orion 7, did he notice he had an incoming message from Garth. He played it, listening to it incredulously. Then he played it again, to see if he heard correctly. Then again, just to vent his anger at it. He could not believe his ears. He had half a mind to call Garth and tell him he could go to hell and the Winchesters could stick their council where the sun did not shine. They weren't Hunters anymore. They had no right to call for a Hunter council.

But he didn't do it. He scoffed at his own sentimentality, especially for someone who did not deserve it. But…Sam and Dean Winchesters were Rangers, too. They knew about Ralph. Phil had lost track of his son a few years back – did not know if he was alive or dead. Maybe…well…maybe they could give him news. For all he told to anyone who would listen, he had no son anymore…he still wanted to know.

He cursed his weakness. Ralph did not deserve his concern. That did not stop him from changing the destination to Mars.

 **Mars. Jody Mills' place**

Dean talked to Ralph on Jody Mills' communicator. Reports from the Anlashok front were disconcerting. Things were quiet since Llewellyn was killed. No other strange deaths had taken place – as far as they knew. The quiet, Dean thought, was not good, and Ralph agreed with him.

"There's something beneath all this," Ralph said. "People are worried – those who know a thing or two about what's out there. They say something's moving. Not just one thing, though. It's like the entire supernatural world is gathering its forces. Like they know a blow's going to fall and they want to be ready to move in quickly."

Which tallied with what Cas and Crowley had already said. Dean was not pleased.

"The Council might help, I suppose," Ralph said uncertainly.

Hunters working together on a large scale was not common. Most had strong personalities and stubborn characters. They did not take orders gladly and they did not like to be contradicted. Not to mention that they held plenty of grudges among themselves.

"I want you at the Council," Dean told Ralph. "Be here on Friday."

Ralph's eyes widened.

"But…I'm not a Hunter, Dean. I've never been much of one."

Dean waved that aside.

"We need a liaison. Someone who knows both Hunters and Rangers. You're it. Sammy's squaring it with Delenn, in case you're worried you might be overstepping anything."

Ralph hesitated. Dean saw the pinched look on his face and guessed the question the young man did not dare to ask.

"Phil Wilson hasn't confirmed he was coming, Ralph," Dean said cautiously. "He hasn't said he wasn't, though."

Ralph's face grew even tighter. Dean wondered if Ralph had any idea what he wanted – for his father to be at the Council, or for him not to be. Either way, this was bound to be hard on him.

"Look, man," he began, "I'm guessing this isn't going to be easy for you and we have no right to ask…"

But then he stopped, seeing Ralph's previously lost look vanish, determination taking its place. Ralph had his own brand of stubbornness, Dean remembered. He had even as a kid – probably that was why he had taken to the Winchesters so quickly. He served the Rangers without complaint. If Dean thought him being there would help both Hunters and Rangers, he would damn well be there – at whatever personal cost to himself.

"I'll see you and Sam on Friday," he announced, ending the transmission.

Dean stared at the blank screen. Sam was not there, so he could allow his mask to slip for a little while. He could allow himself to worry – and wonder. He wondered which of them would be alive at the end of this current crisis – and hoped very much he could be able to hold on to his circle of friends and family, both old and new.


End file.
